Candid Corvid Productions

There’d be no more waiting.

Upon their first meeting, he took her hand, slowly brought it up toward his face, then pressed his warm, soft lips upon it in a kiss of acknowledgement.

Though hesitant, she moved in closer, lovingly carressed his cheek, and slid the palm of her hand gently down the side of his neck to its base at his shoulder, claiming.

How could she overcome
Self-protective resistance

She hated mating games but
Conceded to needed proving

“Here are my thoughts,”
He began in responding

But she shyed abruptly
As if used to a beating

How she craved to know
Yet had little experience

Of positive beneficience
In giving any man power

She was afraid to hear his reply
His opinion too much mattered

Sometimes she could feel him
Watching, pacing, and waiting

His cautious reserve provoked
Excitement, yearning, and anger

“I don’t want any of these empty shells,” she cried out to him. “I just want you!”

And then turned to run, afraid to be trapped in one-sided passion, again.

Neck clamped down in pain
As if a god chomp-twisted

She dove into the dream realm
Where met false male illusions

Casting them aside as gasping,
She turned in staggard gritting

To face the gray blank fog
Searching for trace of him

Teeth flex-ache extending
Fighting need’s desperation